Giver [hs]

ii. Incertitude

                             [ I N C E R T I T U D E ]: a state of uncertainty or hesitation.

                 S E V E N  M O N T H S  E A R L I E R

        Rowan was alive.

At least, she thought so.

The only proof of this testament was the rhythmic beep pulsing in her ears, mimicking her steady heartbeat.

She felt she was moving, rolling, actually. She could feel the air rush past her and she heard the rickety wheels underneath her. She didn't try to open her eyes.

Rowan raked her brain for memories, the most recent one being running. The ache of pain in her thighs and calves suddenly seemed more present, the soreness of her heels aching. She remembered their shouts behind her, ordering her to stop, but she kept running.

What she had just done was a crime punishable by death - she couldn't let them catch her. Or Jordan, for that matter. She rounded a corner and maneuvered her way through the tight crowds of people. They shot her worried glances, not paying much mind to the men with guns that could take out a city following in suit after her.

She didn't notice the dart in her neck until her moves became lethargic and her mind muddled. She ripped it out, watching the last of the thick, clear liquid seep out of the needle. Rapture.

Rowan entered the first stage, ecstasy, which loosened your muscles like playdoh and slowed your mind, mentally and physically disabling you. She slowed to a walk, tripping over her own feet as she danced on the line between consciousness and unconsciousness. Her vision blurred, a delirious laugh tumbling from her lips. Her mind broke free from the drug, allowing her one last, solid clear thought before she gave in.

Ha-

Rowan's reminiscing was cut short when someone yelled out from above her.

"She's wakin' up!" 

The voice was modulated and deep, male, Rowan identified. She allowed her eyelids to flutter open but hooded them from the lights above her, allowing them to dilate and adjust. Not shortly after, a thin gleam of bright light shone directly into her irises and she flinched away, looking up with a grunt.

The face she was greeted with was craggy and, well, pretty. No other way to put it. Long, thick dark hair hung over his Bambi eyes, tanned, olive skin and a freshly shaven face. He was very personable, Rowan decided. He was looking down on her, his hands holding the railing on either side of her, an incandescent smile plastered on his face.

"Who are you?"

Rowan's throat was sore and parched, and it was painful to talk. He didn't answer, just placed a ring clad finger of his lips and smirked down at her, whispering a 'shh'.

Rowan pulled her eyebrows down and watched the ceiling as it passed by overhead. It was dimly lit and dirty, just a plain slab of concrete.  She was lying on an uncomfortable bed, the man wheeling her somewhere. She didn't even think that maybe he was a Giver - maybe he worked with the Council and was wheeling her to her death. Instead, she worried about the aching pain in her lower abdomen.

"W - Where are you taking me?" Rowan groaned, feeling more light headed than she had when she woke up. He didn’t look down at her but an identifiable frown crossed his features, and he spoke to someone that Rowan couldn’t see.

“Alleviate is wearing off…… another dose…… where’s Tomlinson?”

Rowan was frantic now. He didn’t look like a Giver. But what did they look like? Besides from the nearly unnoticeable white ring around their pupils, they looked like everyone else.

“I said, where are you taking me? And who are you?” Rowan struggled to sit up but she groaned again, the pain on her abdomen paralyzing her.

“Shh, it’s alright,” He looked down at her now, the rolling stilled and he wiped the sweat off her forehead with a towel. “My name is Zayn – you’re in good hands, Rowan. We’re taking you to our doctor…” He trailed off, murmuring to someone over his shoulder that, again, Rowan couldn’t see.

“Running a fever…”

Their words sounded muffled, like they had stuffed cotton balls in their mouths. Rowan strained to hear what they were saying as she was wheeled into a cleaner, brighter room.

“…..She’s gonna pass out….any moment now…another dose…” The voice was a bit higher pitched and laced with an accent, another male.

Rowan furrowed her eyebrows as something stabbed into her left thigh. She winced, the prick of it painful and cool. They retracted the needle and her thoughts became knotted, her vision going out of focus and her body went lax. Zayn appeared over her again, wiping down her sweaty forehead.

“It’s okay, Rowan.. you’re okay.”

And for once in her life, Rowan believed it, as she slipped into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness.